Hailstorm
by EnyaAzari
Summary: RE-POSTED. "…In response to these events, Director Fury of SHIELD has requested that you, Peter Parker, take residence at the former Stark Tower with the Avengers until such time that the council deems it appropriate to remove you from their care…"
1. Chapter 1

**Author: EnyaAzari**

**Rating: T for now**

**Summary: Peter Parker is ordered, by command of SHIELD, to take up residence in the former- Stark tower. This is a Multi-chapter fanfiction. **

**Pairing: Clintasha, Pepperony, Thane (if Jane comes in), and Peter/Gwen Stacy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own MARVEL or any of its affiliates. **

**AN: ****I apologize extensively for my disappearance. A month or so ago, my laptop and user accounts were hacked by a malicious trojan horse. This deleted all of my files. After buying a new PC, I logged on and found that the files on FanFiction were unharmed. So, I am reposting many of my stories. Updates will start to flow regularly within the week. I apologize once more for the inconvenience.**

Hailstorm

...

"…In response to these events, Director Fury of SHIELD has requested that you, Peter Parker, take residence at the former Stark Tower with the Avengers until such time that the council deems it appropriate to remove you from their care…"

…

Peter Parker stood outside the entrance to Stark tower. A day satchel, containing his school books, was slung over his shoulder, and his two, rather worn suitcases were clutched in either hand. In the back pocket of his khaki's, his admittance slip and ID card were tucked away securely. Exhaling a stressed breath, Parker stepped forward, lurching slightly from the weight of the extra baggage. Although Tony Stark had been kind enough to provide first-class transport from Queens to his current location, no such help had been presented in terms of his luggage. Not that he minded.

As the cool air of the immaculate vestibule hit the adolescent, Peter sighed in relief. Peter, planting his luggage next to a Jade tree, withdrew the paperwork required for admittance, from his back pocket. The receptionist, blonde woman in her early thirties, smiled kindly up at the boy.

"What can I help you with?" She questioned in a falsified tone that mimicked pure sugar.

"Um…" Peter coughed. "I'm here to see Tony Stark. My name is Peter Parker; I was told that he was expecting me…"

The receptionist cut him off with a firm signal from her flawlessly manicured hand. "I know all about you dear. Miss. Potts will be down shortly to escort you." Peter took this as his cue to leave her presence.

Peter, feeling a tad uncomfortable with his environment, slowly lowered himself into an expensive chair at the far corner of the foyer, not far from his belongings. From this distance, Peter watched discretely as the receptionist pressed several dials on an ear piece, and began talking in what appeared to be rapid French. A few seconds later, she pushed yet another switch, and the conversation ceased. Peter glanced at his clammy hands, slightly embarrassed by his solitary predicament. As the moments lugged by, Peter grew progressively anxious.

As the clock struck one pm, the distant elevator chimed, and a tall, slim, strawberry-blond woman exited, attired in a white pants-suit, clipboard clutched in her hands. She glanced around momentarily, before striding towards him, a welcoming smile playing across her flushed lips.

"You must be Peter!" She exclaimed. Her voice was benevolent and genuine, but Peter could almost feel the authoritative waves rolling off her body. "I'm Pepper Potts, Mr. Stark's CEO and fiancée." She grinned again.

Peter beamed in response, and stuck out his hand politely. "It's nice to meet you Miss Potts."

She shook his hand and nodded in reply. "Well, the team is waiting. I'll have Agent Fuerst bring the luggage up. I believe you are already acquainted with him."

Peter nodded. Agent Fuerst had been one of the agents to initially inform him of his situation.

"Well then, its best you come with me."

The pair headed towards the elevator in which Pepper had appeared.

"This is a private elevator for the inhabitants only. Since the bottom four floors are open for tours on Saturdays, Mr. Stark thought it best to install a separate entrance." She inserted a keycard to an awaiting slot, and selected a button at the top of the control panel. "I expect that the others will want to give you a tour, but I thought that you might want, at least, some sort of …" she paused. "Uh…some sort of general direction." She took a moment to unclip a pamphlet from the top of her clipboard. She handed the paper to Peter, who carefully examined the material.

"It's a map."

She grinned. "Yes, it's a map. Trust me; this place is so enormous that_ I_ still get lost sometimes. Here…" She opened the pamphlet and pointed to a long diagram of… was that ninety-eight floors?! Pepper began to rattle off information. "Except for the garage, the thirty or so floors along the bottom really have no purpose, so I don't think you'll be going in there. Now," She gestured towards floor forty-five. "This is where the actual 'living' space begins. Mostly, those are training rooms for um…well; you'll meet them in a moment. Mr. Stark also uses a floor or two in that general area for storage of miscellaneous parts. Around floor 60, there is another rather large gap of space, but Mr. Stark is about to begin renovating those to be conference rooms, technology labs, and smaller guest quarters for the SHIELD employees that often visit." She took a breath from her extensive monologue. Peter looked at the flashing beacon above the elevator doors; they were approaching level eighty- two. "Now, where you really want to pay attention is up here." Pepper was now pointing at floor eighty. This is where the Avengers and I hold residence. Mr. Stark has already arranged for you to be staying at the…" The elevator dinged Peter froze. Pepper placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and grinned.

"Let's go meet your roommates."

…

Whatever Peter had been expecting, the scene that met his eyes wasn't even in the same league as his original anticipation. Six humanoid figures were spread out across an expansive area, and as far as Peter could tell, only one had observed his arrival. Directly across the room, if you could call it that, was a wall of seamless windows that offered a spectacular view of Manhattan and the surrounding sections of New York City. To the left of the window was what appeared to be a miniature landing strip that extended off of the tower's side. To the right, a long corridor disappeared into a long curve, presumably leading to living quarters or other miscellaneous chambers. A long, obsidian alcoholic bar stood to the left of the landing strip, bar-stools lining the counter's curve. A leather and chrome couch rested in the center of the expanse, with a few expensive armchairs littering the remaining space. A glass center console rested in the middle of the furniture, creating a sense of unity.

Pepper and a bespeckled man wearing loose brown trousers and a green shirt, cleared their throats at the same time. The five others, the majority situated on the various armchairs or the solitary couch, whipped around.

"This is Peter Parker, often referred to as Spider-man." Pepper broke the deafening silence.

The bespeckled man that had coughed in unison with Miss Potts jumped forward, saving Peter from an awkward entrance.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Bruce Banner. We've been expecting you." The man offered a warm smile.

Peter did a double take. This was the Hulk? "Bruce Banner! Your work on the…"

"Yeah, yeah we know." A rather teasing voice came from behind Dr. Banner. The man was on the shorter side, with dark hair, dark eyes, and was dressed in a casual AC/DC shirt, and jeans. Peter recognized the man instantaneously.

"Mr. Stark." He acknowledged.

"The one and only. But, call me Tony, Mr. Stark makes me sound old." Stark replied.

A loud snort came from his left. A slightly taller man, with dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a loose fitting black shirt and dark jeans, stood there, arms crossed and barefoot.

"Really Barton?"

"What?!" The man, Barton, exclaimed indignantly. Mr. Stark pinched his nose with his index finger and his thumb.

Tony gestured over his shoulder. "That is Clint Barton, SHIELD Agent, and master assassin. You probably know him as Hawkeye."

Peter felt his stomach give an uneasy flip. This was beginning to explain the need for all those extra training rooms.

"Call me Clint." Hawkeye spoke up, winking at Peter. Peter felt his stomach settle, and returned Clint's welcoming look with a small smile. Clint seemed like a generally pleasant guy; well, until you got on his bad side.

"I am Thor of Asgard, Man of Spider." A booming voice called.

Peter jumped at the sudden sound, and once the actual words had settled in his brain, he wrestled with the strong desire to burst out laughing. _Man of Spider?_

"Umm… it's nice to meet you Thor." He looked towards the sound of the voice, and his eyes met with a figure so large that Peter was surprised that he had not noticed the man, correction: Norse god, before.

"Nice going Goldilocks." Stark commented.

Stark did have a point, Peter mused. There was something about long Thor's golden hair that gave it a "L'Oreal- esque" quality.

"Save it Stark." Yet another voice echoed through the room. "Excuse me Thor."

A man, shorter than Thor by an inch or two, and equally blonde, popped around from behind Thor's massive head. His clothing had a _look _of the 1940's, and his hair cut mimicked the popular styles from a similar time.

"This is Captain America, Peter." Stark signaled at the "vintage" soldier. "But, we like to call him Capsicle."

Capsicle groaned. "Hello Peter." He stated chirpily, all signs of previous annoyance essentially evaporated. "And umm…please call me Steve." Steve shot a glare in Tony's direction, but said billionaire was much too busy biting his fingernails and looking a much smaller figure in the back of the crowd…

"Is our resident Spider gonna come out and meet her new counterpart?" Stark teased.

Peter arched an eyebrow; _Resident Spider?_ The sound of skin upon skin echoed throughout the room abruptly, and Stark let out a very girlish squeal, clutching his cheek.

"That hurt Tasha…" he groaned.

The woman, Peter assumed, stepped out from her secreted position next to Clint (who had bent over in pure hysterics), and behind Steve (who wore a disapproving look upon his authoritative features).

She was a rather petite woman in terms of height, the crown of her wild mass of curly, flaming, locks reaching Clint's shoulder, at best. Her skin was a light ivory, with hints of soft pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were a dark, piercing green, and her curvaceous figure was clothed in tight fitting jeans and a loose, button down, white blouse. When her body shifted, Peter's sharp eyes detected the outline of a semi-concealed gun holster secreted around her hips.

She extended a slender hand, and Peter shook it lightly. "Natasha Romanoff. I'm a SHIELD Agent, and Clint's partner." She nodded in the direction of said assassin.

Stark laughed. "She forgot the part that she's the Black Widow."

Peter's stomach dropped into his ankles. Natasha, who had obviously noticed some sort of radical facial change, grinned. "Don't worry; I'm not going to assassinate you."

"That is, unless you piss her off." Clint commented, biting into an apple that had mysteriously appeared.

_How? Never mind… Peter didn't want to know._

Pepper placed light, comforting hand on his back. He had almost forgotten that she was present.

"I need one of you to show him to his room. I have to be at a press conference in five minutes." She stared at each Avenger in turn, the majority, cowering under her glare.

"Eh… I'll do it." Clint stepped forward, chucking his apple core twenty feet across the room into an open waste bin. He smirked at Peter. "Come on kid."

**Alright! That's a wrap. **

**Adios,**

**EnyaAzari**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author: EnyaAzari**

**Rating: T for now**

**Author's Note: ****This chapter takes place the next day, directly following the last chapter. Eventually, however, the chapters will start to skip around to the most important events. But for a start, I wanted to give you, the readers, a general sense of direction. Please review or PM me to tell me your thoughts, and what you want to see in later chapters. I'm completely open to suggestions. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own MARVEL or any of its affiliates. They keep refusing my Christmas cards.**

Hailstorm

Breakfast, as it turned out, was a rambunctious affair. Peter, who was simply expecting a cup of coffee and a bowl of cornflakes, received much more than the usual ordeal. Said superhero stumbled out of bed at 0730, and took the elevator up three floors, dressed in gym shorts and a ratty white t-shirt. The rest of the company was already awake; half bickering obnoxiously over the last two boxes of pop tarts, while the others badgered Natasha for her superlative pancakes. Clint was the only one who looked like he didn't want to be there. This mildly surprised the newcomer, due to the fact that Clint had displayed rather extraverted behavior the previous evening. But as he drew closer to the older man, Peter could make out the heavy black lines that littered the delicate skin beneath the assassin's eyes.

Natasha detected Peter first. "Good Morning sleepy head." She called over the commotion. _Sleepy Head! It was 7:30…_

"Don't mind Tasha, Peter. She wakes up at 0400."

Natasha whacked Stark's hand with the spatula.

"Calm it Stalin!" Stark cried out, cradling his now inflamed hand.

Peter could only raise his eyebrows at the exchange.

"Mornin' kid." Clint's feeble greeting made Peter's russet eyebrows disappear even farther into his messy hair-line Natasha cast a worrisome glance in her partner's direction.

Pepper, who was in the process of biting into a strawberry pop tart, waved her hand in salutation. Thor was in similar predicament, so he followed her example, waving optimistically from his perch on one of the bar-stools. Steve, who was collapsed next to Thor, was sipping a steaming mug of coffee and perusing the local newspaper. He offered a warm grin and a small wave. Peter returned the favor.

Bruce, whose head was buried in a copy of the New York Times, patiently awaiting Natasha's cuisine, nodded in Peter's direction and offered a small smile. Dr. Banner, Peter deduced, was obviously rather reserved.

Peter, who was absentmindedly running a hand though his untamable muddle of mussed hair, made his way over to an open barstool, settling in next to Tony.

"Did you sleep alright?" Natasha questioned from behind the counter.

"Yeah, thanks." Peter replied, his voice gruff from his newly-awoken state.

"Good. I'm assuming you want some pancakes?"

"Yes please."

"Hmmm…do you want chocolate chip, blueberry, or plain?"

"Three blueberry pancakes would be excellent."

Natasha nodded in acknowledgement. Peter, who had secretly had his doubts of her disposition the previous evening, felt the original discomfort dissolve. Although he would never want to challenge her authority, Natasha seemed to possess some sort of a relaxed nature while in the company of her fellow teammates. Stark, who up until this point had been cheering Thor on as he attempted to shove six pop tarts in his mouth, turned towards the boy.

"Is your room alright?"

"Oh yeah, thanks! It's great." This, in retrospect, didn't even begin to express Peter's gratitude.

"Good. I'd hoped it would suit your needs."

Stark had given Peter the entire 82nd floor. His apartment complex consisted of two bedrooms, one with a view of the Hudson and the other with a outlook of the city (Peter had chosen the former), two state-of-the-art master bathrooms, a private elevator, a modest kitchenette, and a cozy lounge equipped with a plush couch, a pair of bean bags, a long coffee table, a plasma screen, and tract lightning. The sheets were made from luxurious Israeli cotton, and the curtains had been hand spun from an expensive silken material.

Natasha's voice interrupted Peter's train of thought.

"The pancakes are served." Natasha commented, seizing the stack of plates from the sideboard, and began piling the flapjacks onto the designated platters.

Clint, who had popped up at Natasha's first syllable, was anxiously awaiting his enormous stack of chocolate chip pastries. Peter was served first, much to Clint's dismay, his neat pile of perfectly browned, blueberry flapjacks sliding into place. An enormous bottle of syrup soon followed. Steve and Tony received their identically mammoth helpings not long after. Bruce received his serving with a small "Thank You" directed towards the culinary-enhanced assassin. Natasha then proceeded to serve her own platter, before concluding the fiasco with a respectable pile of pancakes that settled upon Clint's awaiting plate. Natasha smirked towards her glaring partner. Then, recognizing that the battle had been won, Clint slowly began to trudge back towards the sofa, Bruce, who had politely paused for him, in tow. Natasha, feeling rather satisfied with her actions, slid next to Peter, and stole the canister of Aunt Jemima syrup from his hands with a mischievous simper plastered against her plump lips.

…

That afternoon, Natasha broke the news to him: Director Fury was coming for a house call. Peter had been so startled that he had literally leapt a foot in the air, accidently dislodging Natasha's firearm-servicing kit from her lap in the mayhem.

"What?!"

"You heard what I said Parker." Natasha replied, perceptibly disgruntled about the miscellaneously splayed instruments.

"Mother Hubbard!"

Natasha gazed at the teenager as though he had just evolved from a particularly nasty form of pond scum. "Mother Hubbard?"

Peter's skin color deepened to a vivid maroon that matched the assassin's hair perfectly.

He regained his voice quickly. "When is he arriving?"

Natasha coughed. "At 1930."

Peter refrained from expressing his terror.

"You know what Peter…" Natasha trailed off, suddenly. "Has anyone given you a formal tour yet?"

Peter shook his head, slightly thrown off by her abrupt subject alteration.

"Would you like one?"

"Ermm…I guess. Yeah, that would nice." The adolescent settled on his reply.

Natasha stood. "Are you coming?" She asked.

Peter hastily rose from his perch.

"Good." She commented.

Natasha began walking towards the elevator, leaving the disassembled servicing equipment behind without a second glance. Peter hurried to catch up.

As Peter fell into step with Natasha, he realized how much taller he was compared to the assassin; not that he wasn't fully sure that Natasha could snap him like a twig in an instant.

As the doors closed behind the pair, Natasha pushed a round button, number 49.

"Let's go annoy Clint, shall we."

…

Clint was not in the mood to be disturbed; His mind was of a whirlwind of unadulterated rage and astounding confusion, although he masked it impeccably. The archer was perched in the rafters, carefully aiming. He released the arrow, his compound bow letting off a soft _twang_ as it flew from the cord. The tip of the weapon pierced the shaft of the previous arrow, some seventy-five yards away. Clint could only remember being this broken once before; the night he and Natasha had discovered that he was virtually deaf. Clint had flown into a blind panic as Natasha had unevenly signed the words with her trembling hands. Budapest had changed the pair in many perpetual, inflexible ways, some joyous, others devastating. As a result of the faulty mission, Clint's eardrums had burst, and only with the assistance of SHIELD technology was he able to hear again. And, after four years, he still couldn't listen to his IPod.

Clint had switched the fundamentally invisible hearing aids off, not wanting to be distracted by Stark's obnoxious choice of music, two floors above in his head. This time, however, his anger had nothing to do with his lack of audible range.

_Loki. He could feel his hands clutching the knife, fighting the woman's ludicrous strength as he brought the blade closer and closer to her neck. He could feel the pressure and pain as her incisors sunk into his taut muscles, the technique used as a last resort. His head slammed into something dull and shiny; a pole. His vision blurred, his heart pounded, and his hands flew desperately for a firm grasp. As his vision returned, he felt a flicker of something: remorse, flutter in his heart. He looked at the advancing figure. Natasha? Shit. Then, an intense wave of control attacked his mind as he saw his redheaded partner pull a swing, the sharp, quick throb as she landed her vigorous blow._

He let out a bellow, his unoccupied hand clutching his dirty-blonde hair. Clint let his heart settle, breathing deeply as he fought back the waves of nausea that attempted to engulf his stomach. He had tried to kill her. He had tried to kill Natasha. The only woman he had ever justly loved. _Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?! _His eyebrows shot up involuntarily as the assassin attempted to process what his mind had just spluttered out.

Then, he felt a hand on his knee. Clint looked up, stunned. Natasha was there, a look of concern plastered on her aristocratic features. She was motioning to his ears. _Ah….right. Hearing aids. _His left hand fumbled with the switch.

"Ты в порядке?" She asked in hushed Russian. (Are you alright?)

"Да. Я в порядке." Clint replied quickly. (Yes. I'm fine.)

She raised her red eyebrows, but said nothing more on the matter.

"I brought Peter down to show him the training rooms." She said, rather loudly.

It took his mind a second to connect. _Peter, ah…yes, the kid. _ He glanced down. Peter was staring openmouthed at the pair, watching intently. Clint forced a small smile.

"Hey kid."

He and Natasha rocked back on their heels, and grabbed onto an industrial pipe, hanging for a second before launching into identical flips, both pairs of feet hitting the floor at the same time.

"Umm…hi." Peter greeted awkwardly.

"Ever used a bow before?" Clint questioned, a sudden idea popping into his head. Natasha gawked at him. She knew that he never allowed anyone to touch his bow.

Peter shook his head.

"Wanna learn?"

Peter's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "But Tony said that you never…"

"He's right…but this is a special occasion. How often do we have superhero teenagers come live with us?" Clint motioned for the boy to come over.

Peter obliged. Clint, slightly horrified at what he was doing, handed Peter the bow. "Now, if you break my baby…" Clint trailed off, deliberately letting his threat blossom into the mind of the teenager. Peter grew rather pale, and Clint smirked at his sudden terror. Natasha was trying not to laugh.

"Alright," Clint stepped forward, and positioned himself behind Peter, guiding his hands into the proper position before loosening the strings slightly. Clint shot on a high setting, one that required a ridiculous amount of strength; a setting that Peter would never be able to manage on his first attempt. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and handed it to the boy. Peter, fumbling slightly, positioned the arrow, slightly askew.

"Place your fingers here…" Clint moved Peter's fingers into the designated slots. "Good. Now I want you to pull the string back to your ear." He paused as Peter did as he was instructed. "Yeah…a little further. Yep, right there." Clint pressed a button on the wall, the target from before coming closer to the trio. "Now, fix your eyes on the target…and release when you're ready." Clint instructed, stepping back, settling next to Nat, her arms crossed and a smirk playing across her lips.

Peter released the arrow. The tip stuck the target, thudding into place two rungs above the bull's-eye. Clint was mildly impressed. He strode forward again.

"Not bad Parker, not bad. Wanna try again?"

"If you don't mind…" Peter stated.

Clint waved him off, handing him another arrow.

"Now, aim a bit lower this time…yeah, right about there…"

Natasha didn't stay to hear the rest of Clint's impromptu lesson. Silently smirking to herself, Natasha felt relief flood her limbs. _Whatever was bothering her partner was certainly not on his mind now. _As the sliding doors shut behind her, she managed to make out two identical whoops, and the sound of a loud high-five echoing in the still air.

_Not bad Natasha…not bad._

…

Director Fury was pissed. Stark had blatantly refused to meet the Director's request of contacting the teenager on the Helicarrier. The man had gone on to prove his point by arguing that Peter had just settled in, and that until he had come up with a decent nickname for the kid, Parker wasn't going anywhere that he disapproved. And, he disapproved of Fury's office. Fury had quirked an eyebrow and muttered some very vulgar expressions, but he had finally relented.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill marched out of the elevator, the latter clutching a clipboard under her arm, her blue eyes gazing around at the impressive expanse. Fury took in his surroundings. All of the Avengers, minus Pepper Potts, were collapsed in a communal living space, two familiar agents on either side of the adolescent he had come to meet with. Maria arched an eyebrow, while Fury proceeded to frown slightly.

"You do know that only one of you needed to be present?" Fury called out, jogging down the three steps.

"We know." Stark's abrupt reply answered Fury's suspicions. They knew that the Director always had ulterior motives.

As Fury reached the alcove, he halted directly before his prey. Fury could tell the boy was tall from the way his legs were bent, a bit on the skinny side, with messy light brown hair, and dark eyes.

"Peter Parker…" Fury began, motioning for Agent Hill to pass him the clipboard. "As you are aware, the council has seen it fit for you to take residence with the Avengers after the…unfortunate incident with the Lizard. You will remain in their care until the council decides otherwise. This means that you may be here for a few weeks, or possibly a few years. Understood?"

Peter nodded. Fury glanced at his file. "I see here that you are seventeen, and that you attend Midtown High School. As it is obviously much too far for you to walk from here, and the bus is out of the question due to the heightened security threat, I'm placing Miss. Jane Foster with the responsibility of your educational transport. She will be arriving tomorrow at 0900."

Thor's eyes lit up.

"If I may ask, sir, who is Miss. Foster?" Peter questioned.

"Jane Foster is an asset to SHIELD. She is a highly respected scientist who, until last week, worked in New Mexico. She is familiar with Thor, having met him on a separate occasion, and she was absolutely thrilled when I extended her a job with SHIELD working alongside Dr. Selvig. Her work-colleague, Darcy Lewis, will be arriving as well." Fury listed, his eyes never leaving Peter's. He found it rather unnerving.

"Now, I need to speak with Mr. Parker alone for a moment."

"No way…" Stark piped up, eyeing Fury warily. "One of us needs to be in there with him. We are, technically speaking, his legal guardians."

"Thank you for volunteering Stark." Fury smirked. Tony jumped in surprise, and mumbled something about 'not being what he intended' under his breath. Nevertheless, both Peter and Stark rose from their position, Clint patting the former on the back. Maria joined her superior.

The trio disappeared down the long corridor, slipping into a makeshift conference area. They all sat down. Stark gave Peter a glance that clearly read: _Don't say anything until I give you the okay._

"Now Mr. Parker, due to your obvious proclivity for SHIELD's line of work, the council and I have agreed on an offer. And trust me when I say, we do not agree often."

"And what is this 'offer'?" Stark growled.

Fury took a deep breath, bracing for impact.

"The council wishes for you to join the Avengers Initiative."

**That's a wrap! Sorry for the Cliffhanger, but I honestly couldn't resist (evil laugh). I know this was centered more on Natasha and Clint getting to know Peter, but the next few chapters will give the other Avengers a lot more screen time(would that be pagetime…) than we've been seeing. Also, Jane and Darcy come in! Yay :) I apologize for any spelling mistakes. English is my second language.**

**Adios for now,**

**Enya Azari**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author: EnyaAzari**

**Rating: T**

**Hello everyone. This installment mainly revolves around the conclusion of last chapter's "disagreement" and the introduction of Jane and Darcy. Feel free to send me suggestions of what you would like you would like to see in upcoming installments.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MARVEL**

Hailstorm

...

"No way in hell."

The initial excitement that had bubbled in the pit of Peter's stomach, dissipated.

"Did you just say _no_, Stark?"

"You know what I said jackass. Peter is a kid. He's too young."

Peter's sentiment crashed. _Just a kid… _Fury quirked a dark eyebrow.

"Unfortunately for you Stark, it's not your decision. Although you can offer suggestions to Peter, it is ultimately his choice. Plus, I only need one signature. I'm quite sure that I can blackmail Agent Barton or Thor into validating the authorization form." Fury smirked.

"Fury, buddy, Peter isn't old enough. I mean, come on, all of the Avengers are of legal age, at least."

"Stark, are you aware of Clint Barton's and Natasha Romanoff's drafting ages?"

"No, but I hardly think that has …"

Fury cut the billionaire off. "Barton was seventeen, Peter's age. Romanoff was nineteen."

Starks eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Do I look like a man who tends to make pointless puns and worthless jokes?"

"I'm not sure that you want me to answer that truthfully Nick."

Maria Hill rubbed her temple, her eyes shut tightly. Frankly, Peter didn't blame the agent. The bickering pair was giving him the vilest migraine of his life.

"Are you saying that you have a problem with the way I run things?" Fury all but bellowed.

"Yes, yes I am."

Peter, sensing that the tension filled debate was rapidly approaching a physical endeavor, made his move.

"Does anyone care what I think about all this?"

The bickering pair stopped their persistent, personal jabs. Fury gave him a pointed look, clearly indicating that the teenager should voice his opinion then and there.

"I would be honored to join the Avengers…" Peter began hesitantly.

Stark groaned. Fury looked ready to hug the adolescent. This disturbed the boy beyond belief. Director Fury did _not_ do hugs.

"But, as I was saying, I would have to have a few…ground rules, shall we call them, put in place."

"What sort of rules are we talking about?"

"Firstly, my identity is to remain a secret. Secondly, if any of the other Avengers are seriously opposed to my participation in a specific mission, they withhold the power to deem me unfit for duty. Thirdly, I will be allowed to have some time away from the tower. The council obviously can't recall what it was like to be an adolescent."

"They probably never were adolescents. They merely spawned as fully grown headaches and nightmares from the deepest pits of heck." Stark commented dryly.

Peter found this comparison quite fitting.

"Is that all?" Fury questioned. He had been expecting a much longer, more extensive list of demands.

"One more thing… I need a new suit. The lizard, well, decided to use the fabric, and my skin for that matter, as its kitty scratch tower."

Fury, who glanced towards his assistant, nodded in affirmation. These seemed rather reasonable.

"Now, Stark, are you going to sign the release slip, or do I need to threaten Barton with permanent suspension from active field duty?"

"Even though I apparently have 'no control' over his decision, I am not going to sign the form which could potentially lead to his death." Stark crossed his arms.

"Very well, Barton it is." Fury and Agent Hill stood from their conference chairs. Stark, however, remained irascible and unmoving. Hill motioned for Peter to follow the Director and herself. With a final, apologetic glance directed towards the philanthropist, Peter hassled after the pair as they disappeared from the doorframe.

…

That night, Clint ordered Pizza.

He had been a pushover. Heck, he liked the kid. What better way to exercise aptitude such as Peter's than to join the Avengers? (This is precisely why Clint Barton, at this time in his life, is perfectly unfit to father a child.) Despite Steve and Dr. Banner's initial doubts, the pair had eventually relented in a showdown of genetically-enhanced arachnid proportions. Quite frankly, Thor was much too busy with pop tarts to care, and Pepper had departed for a Stark Enterprises meeting during the fiasco, and had yet to learn of the incident. Natasha had been the real issue. The partners had been involved in a rather loud, Russian debacle, complete with flying knives and smashing vases. Natasha was pissed, and at the end of the monumental fight, sided with Tony, and went to sulk in the training arena. All other Avengers were strongly advised to leave her be, lest they were to develop a solid desire to become gruesomely decapitated.

And so, the remaining company (a powerfully shaken Peter, an enthusiastic Clint, a pastry-loving god, a super-soldier, and an incredible hulk) decided to order Pizza, consume far too many soft drinks, participate in an obnoxious belching contest, and stay awake until three in the morning watching pointless action flicks.

…

Jane Foster was curious. Rather curious indeed. She had been mapping an algorithm in the middle of New Mexico when her satellite phone had alerted the scientist that SHIELD was calling. An Agent Fuerst had informed her of a new position as liaison for the division, and Jane had pounced upon the well-paying opportunity.

Now, standing in the middle of Anthony Stark's private runway, Jane began to wonder Director Fury's real motives. From Thor and his companions, Jane had received an earful throughout the months concerning the one-eyed man, but, for the first time, the researcher actually began to ponder her acquaintance's words. Her thoughts, however, were broken by a high pitched squeal, a mass of dark brown hair, and a pale, bespeckled face. _Ah…Darcy._

Jane's close friend and reliable work colleague, Darcy Lewis, had flung her herself towards the scientist.

"Oh my God Jane!" Darcy squealed.

Jane internally sighed.

"Hey Darcy… When did you get here?"

"Uh…about twenty minutes ago. Have you _seen_ the car?" She put a large emphasis on the last bit.

"Umm…no, I've only just arrived." Jane responded, slightly bemused. Darcy grasped Jane's hand and quickly led the brunette across the tarmac and around a building. The vehicle in question made Jane stop in her tracks. It was obsidian, custom-armored Rolls Royce Phantom, complete with two SHIELD agents.

_Well damn…_

Jane Foster, for the first time in a very long period, was unequivocally flabbergasted.

"Miss Foster, Miss Lewis…" One of the SHIELD agents, donned in a neat black suit with aviator- style sunglasses, called to the pair. "Mr. Stark and his colleagues are requesting that we depart. You luggage will be taken in a separate vehicle."

The man's counterpart opened the car door.

The two associates shared a glance before stepping simultaneously in the direction of the Phantom, Jane adjusting the strap upon her leather messenger bag.

…

The outer appearance of Stark tower was magnificent, to say the least. The glass entirety caused the sun's beaming rays to glint across the city majestically, the solitary _**A**_ marking the residents identities. As a designated escort led the pair through the intricate and rather modern foyer and into the solitude-ridden elevator, both of their minds were abuzz with opportunities and various prospects.

As the car slid to a halt, the duet exchanged glances, ran identical hands through their dark locks, and adjusted their bag's straps for a final time. The doors slithered ajar.

As Jane made for the exit, a large flash of blonde tresses and towering stature flashed before her eyes in an arresting cacophony. Thor.

"Lady Jane, it is a pleasure to find myself in your radiant presence once more." The Norse god bowed, taking her petite hand in his, and kissing it.

Jane turned red, while Darcy, the security guard, and a man behind the legend subdued sniggers.

"Ah…well, it's, umm… great to see you as well, Thor." Jane fumbled with her typically eloquent speech in her quite flustered state. Thor, however, seemed to accept this greeting whole-heartedly.

"Ah, Lady Darcy…It is a pleasure as well. How have you faired in our time apart?" Thor rambled deafeningly as he caught sight of the woman beside his love interest.

Darcy raised an eyebrow at the volume. "It's not been terrible Goldilocks, but Jane has been _driving me up the wall_ with her inner monologue. Contact Thor, don't contact Thor…" Darcy remarked sarcastically, mimicking her colleague. Jane elbowed Darcy in the ribs, flushed once again. Thor grinned.

"If you're done up there Point Break, we would like to actually meet Miss Foster and her friend…" A man, whose voice Jane recognized in an instant, spoke up.

"Ah yes, Man of Iron, my deepest apologizes.

Although Jane had never met the Avengers, save Thor, in person, she had experienced the honor of interacting with the team through various video conference channels. Tony Stark, snarky attitude in tow, peeked around the large man.

"Miss Foster…" Stark acknowledged, nodding his head in her direction, hands stuck deeply into his jean pockets.

"Mr. Stark."

"Hello Miss Foster, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."  
Jane recognized the obvious articulateness. Thor moved aside, revealing the rest of the team.

Steve Rodgers nodded and offered a genuine smile. She beamed in response.

A handful of minutes later, introductions had been concluded, and the mass group has disbanded to various quarters. Although it was only 9:45 am, the entire team seemed fully functional. Natasha Romanoff had been assigned by Stark (this obligation was met only with a withering glare) to escort the pair to their quarters.

Jane noticed immediately that Natasha was not a conversationalist, speaking only when unquestionably required. With her austere attitude and flaming locks, both associates could sense a cauldron boiling. Something had occurred previous to their arrival. Darcy was determined to find out, but Jane held her back with a pointed stare.

"I hope you won't mind, but you'll be sharing a floor. There are two master bedrooms, so I assume that you will both be comfortable until further accommodations can be provided." Natasha announced curtly. The trio stood before a silver door, a dark 81 emblazoned upon the frame.

Jane and Darcy were dumbfounded. They had been expecting to share a room. _An entire floor…_

"I assure you that Tony doesn't need to move us. This is rather gracious of him, already."

Natasha smirked.

I'll pass the message on, but there isn't much one can do once Stark has set his mind on something."

Natasha slid a key card into a slot, much like a hotel room, before withdrawing a pair of identical cards from her back pocket. She handed the scientists their respective cards before stepping back into the elevator and disappearing from view.

…

Dinner that night was a fiasco. Pepper and Natasha had partnered to prepare their legendary lasagna, and the kitchen was a mass commotion of clinking containers, running water, the buzz of enthusiastic chatter, and the occasional squeak of an oven door. Peter, who had become accustomed to the chaos, found himself guiding the newcomers through the pandemonium with a mask of hilarity plastered upon his face.

Twenty Five minutes later, the entire congregation was seated, Stark and Pepper at the respective heads. The culinary delight was served fresh with warmed garlic bread and various alcoholic beverages. Peter and Darcy opted for soda. There was no particular flow to the conversation, odd battle stories, heated discussions about Budapest, and the request for larger air ducts all circling in due time.

Peter, as he watched from the middle, Natasha and Jane on either side, felt an overwhelming sense of family and companionship. Peter had unearthed his niche, and for the solitary time in his life, felt as though he belonged.

**That's a wrap ladies and gentlemen! I will be updating within the next few days. Don't forget to leave a review or send a PM to tell me how you feel about the fic, or to pass on a chapter suggestion. **

**Adios,**

**Enya Azari**


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